


w i s h i n g  w e l l

by DarkStreet



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Character Study, Finding Peace, Foster Care, Gen, Growing Up, John Needs a Purpose, Military, Military Background, Non-Graphic Violence, Orders, Present Tense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-11-27 10:25:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18193340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkStreet/pseuds/DarkStreet
Summary: He’s eleven and in his first foster home when he throws his first punch.It bears his full weight and when it connects with the bone of a jaw he can feel the crack on each of his knuckles.---His collar turned shackles breaks away. He is finally free.He’s free for the first time since he sat behind the driver seat of this father’s sedan his eyes barely peeking over the steering wheel. For the first time since skipping school for his mother and his father who was gone, gone,gone.





	w i s h i n g  w e l l

He’s eighteen almost nineteen the first time he stands in formation, the first time he hears those words uttered within earshot. 

_A born soldier._

He resents the designation and, after his first hit order, he wonders if he should have chosen prison if he is only going to take more life. 

But, maybe, just maybe, he understands why his father chose this life. 

Why he joined before the draft. 

_A born soldier._

Over time and tours he accepts the kind of man he is. 

The sacrifices made for life and country. 

He learns he’s best with a gun in his hand and a target in his sights. 

He becomes exactly who is needed. 

_A born soldier_ . 

He’s nine and his mother’s sick. 

He’s nine and an orphan. 

His father killed in the service, his mother by her own body. 

He’s nine when his aunt drops him back into the system. 

As an adult, all he remembers of her is her tight grip on his shoulder and her cigarette breath on his ear as she forces him away from the his father’s ceremony. 

She doesn’t look back at him as he’s escorted down the hallway that leads to the end of a life. 

And he pretends he doesn’t care. 

_A born soldier._

He’s ten and all he has left of his childhood is a Saint Michael medal, a first edition of Fahrenheit 451, and a collection of bottle caps. He isn’t even given his father’s flag. 

He wears the medal around his neck and later finds irony in the classic. 

_A born soldier._

He’s eleven and in his first foster home when he throws his first punch. 

It bears his full weight and when it connects with the bone of a jaw he can feel the crack on each of his knuckles. He had aimed at the kid’s eye but his limbs are still unfamiliar and his coordination is only beginning to grow. 

His opponent is much, _much,_ larger and with the beating he was given, it could never be considered a fight. But, he’s told he’s lucky the parent’s didn’t sue and his family is horrified. 

His social worker collects him early the next morning and he’s shipped off to a home. 

He would never know what happens to the kid he was defending. 

_A born soldier._

He’s thirteen the first time he’s arrested. 

It’s not like the time he drove his father’s car into their neighbor’s garage. 

No one comes to his defense. 

But, his friend was being threatened by older kids, so he cracks the ring leader over the back of the head with a vase and kicks him while he’s down. 

He sits in the back of the police car wondering why he’s the one getting punished. 

_A born soldier._

After his arrest, he’s sent to another school district, but rumors spread in the system and he morphs from a kid beating a bully to a violent punk. 

He’s fifteen and has lost count of the amount of fights he’s won. 

He’s fifteen and standing in the middle of a meth kitchen with his school bag slung over his shoulder and a hunting knife tucked into his belt. 

He wonders if this is what it means to be hazed. 

_A born soldier._

He’s sixteen and friends with the kind of people parent’s warn their kids about. 

But it’s easy, it’s simple. 

It’s easy because they keep the peace in their piece of town, in their territory. 

When kids are bullied, old folks hassled, they point and he swings. 

He’s grown significantly since his first try. He never misses and he never starts anything he can’t finish. 

He turns a blind eye when his _friends_ are the ones perpetrating. 

He grabs cold pizza from the fridge and sits quietly as they count the protection cash. 

He learns the hypocrisy of helping. 

_A born soldier._

He’s seventeen and waiting out his birthday in a cheap suit behind the defendant’s desk. 

As the judge issues her verdict, he can’t help feeling he’s been blindsided. 

He stopped a robbery, he saved the cashier’s life. 

Four guys down. 

It was the first time he held a gun in his hand yet it was second nature to shoot. 

He’s seventeen the first time he kills a man. 

_A born soldier_ . 

He comes home from his first tour to a woman he thinks he loves. 

But, when he holds her in his arms, all he knows is that she’s holding him back. 

So, he goes back, they point he shoots, and eventually the numbness creeps over his soul and he feels nothing. 

He wonders if his father would be proud of him. 

_A born soldier._

The CIA finds him astray, takes him home, and collars him. 

When he’s introduced to Kara, he thinks his luck has finally turned. 

He thinks that now he’ll _finally_ be doing the work he knows he was born to do. 

And when she strips him of his father’s name, he actually believes it. 

_A born soldier._

But now, _now_ , Kara is dead and he’s done terrible, _terrible¸_ things for no less reason than he was told. 

With no less reason as he can’t trust himself. 

Trusting leads to chaffed wrists on trips in the backs of police cars and emptying a clip at close range with only four targets. 

His collar turned shackles breaks away. He is finally free. 

He’s free for the first time since he sat behind the driver seat of this father’s sedan his eyes barely peeking over the steering wheel. For the first time since skipping school for his mother and his father who was gone, gone, _gone_. 

He’s free, but he has never felt so trapped. 

_A born soldier._

Jessica was murdered and he feels nothing but responsible. 

He remembers sitting on the floor in front of the television his mother heaving in the bathroom. 

He remembers the click of the deadbolt as his father entered the house. 

He remembers the look on his face when he slowly shook his head. 

_Hopelessness._

His father’s face bleeds into his eyes with each blink with emotion rising at each swig. 

When he drinks, habits from his youth resurface. 

So, when he’s privy to the scene of thugs on the subway, he moves before he thinks. 

He moves like he was trained, in the only way he knows how. 

He moves and he _breathes._

Gasping for breath, he feels the crashing of waves and, if he squints, maybe he can see the shore. 

As he sits in the police department with Detective Carter, he marvels that it’s taken this long for someone to pick him up. 

_You don’t need a job._

Even with all the man claims to knows, he wonders if he is truly aware of just what he is offering. 

Between the photo of the woman he is to save and the man in the three piece suit, he decides it doesn’t matter. 

_You need a purpose, Mr. Reese._

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is another of me joining a fandom after the fact.  
> I hope you enjoyed this :D Please comment, if you're so inclined, I would love to hear what you think


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